Things Not to Discuss at Dinners and Job Interviews
by AletheiaFelinea
Summary: An evening at Casa Dresden. Between "Blood Rites" and "Dead Beat".


"...And two hundred for tracking down a missing earring makes it eight hundred and fifty bucks for this week." I noted the numbers on a scrap of paper and underlined the sum. I put the pencil down and picked up my Coke. Then I put it back down to move the last check to the income pile. I still tended to forget I had one hand for most things now. Then again, I had already learned to open cans singlehandedly. Heh.

"That one was a quick job. I don't know why she looked at me like that, though." I frowned at my last client's signature, reaching for the Coke once more and leaning back in the chair. Mouse, who had been sleeping on my lap, shifted in his dream, jostled by my movement.

The other end of the table was covered in newspapers. Or, to be precise, in the classifieds pages. Everything else went straight into the fireplace, unread, as Thomas plowed through one paper after another, circling the job offers he considered promising in red pen. Now he made a vaguely inquisitive sound around the pen cap in his teeth.

"Not in a hostile way," I mused. "Rather, uh, measuring? Up and down. Usually I get this sort of look when clients first come to me, not when they pay afterw—"

Some commotion beneath the table interrupted me. I looked down just in time to see Mister's paw landing unceremoniously on Mouse's fuzzy snout. The puppy jerked awake and hastily slid down to the floor. Thirty pounds of self-satisfied felinity took his place and – stars and stones, did I really hear that? – started purring. In recent months Mister spent more time snuggled up to me than in all his previous life.

Mouse bucked groggily against Thomas shins. He scooped up the little fuzzball, who curled up on his lap, dozing off again in seconds. Truth be told, the 'fuzzball' part was still there, but the 'little' not so much. Mouse barely fit on laps anymore, though he still looked more like a puppy than a mature dog, which was somewhat disconcerting.

Thomas squinted at some small print. "My guess is, she was wondering whether you're proportional everywhere," he said absently.

I stared at him for a second. Then my brain caught up. My windpipe caught up, too, at a mouthful of Coke.

Most of his attention still on the newspaper, Thomas reached out and gave me a thump on the back. I stopped coughing mostly to avoid another one. When a vampire thumps you, you know you got thumped.

"I'm _so_ not discussing this with you!" I wheezed, blinking my watering eyes.

"Well, you asked," he pointed out.

"I was thinking out loud," I corrected him in a dignified tone. "I didn't ask for the Raith sort of dinner talk."

This made him look up at last.

" _Famiglia_ Raith isn't exactly big on family dinners," he said. "Unless one counts posh banquets with all sorts of food and one sort of entertainment, this being chatting about Court politics by chatting about seemingly anything but Court politics. I like your choice of topics better, " he beamed.

I rolled my eyes. "I hate vamps. Most of all I hate vamps I'm related to."

My brother gave a long-suffering sigh. "Man, tell me about it. _I'm_ related to a wizard."

"Damn right you are, so shut up, or you'll find yourself at the receiving end of some wizardry."

"Really? That would be awfully nice of you, Harry. More light, please?" He pushed an unlit candle toward me, his grin angelically innocent.

I glared at him, but my expression must have turned thoughtful, because he suddenly looked wary. My best glares never had this effect on him.

"You know what? I can give you a job. I should hire you as my secretary. You would do my bookkeeping and be in charge of wheedling payment out of my clients. I bet you could even get tips on top of the agreed price."

He raised a brow. "Yeah? And what are you going to pay me with?"

"Why, with said tips. I believe that good work comes from good motivation." This was my turn for an angelic grin.

He gave me a level look. "No one likes a wiseass boss, Harry."

"A wiseass employee needs one, whether he likes it or not." I smirked into my Coke.

Thomas hid his own smirk behind a raised newspaper.


End file.
